The Grimswell Curse by Sam Siciliano Page A

asleep. Here now, you two needn’t look at me like that. I don’t make a habit of this sort of thing, after all. I’ve been down in the dumps about Rose, and my friends decided to try to cheer me up. It worked, but I’m not sure it was worth it. Anyway, what does it matter? Rose left before you or I could stop her. The question is what’s to be done now.” He raised his reddish-brown eyebrow in an inquisitive look.
    Holmes had his hands behind his back, his right hand grasping the wrist of his left arm. “I have been considering whether to go to Dartmoor. If I do, I would prefer to go alone.” He stared down at Digby, who smiled.
    “Sorry, but I really must come along. I’ve done as you said and left Rose alone for a few days, and look what’s happened—she’s run off! Actually, I’d about decided to go to Dartmoor, anyway, and I’d be glad for your company. Maybe we can get to the bottom of this business once and for all.”
    He said this earnestly enough, but I could not restrain an angry sigh. “What’s the matter?” he asked innocently.
    “Nothing,” I said. “Nothing at all. We may as well all arrive at Miss Grimswell’s doorstep.”
    “Oh, you’re coming too? Splendid!” His pleasure was so genuine, it was hard—briefly—to stay annoyed at him. “I’ve been meaning to stop by before, Mr. Holmes. How did the exam business go with Mrs. Doctor Vernier? Did she find out anything?”
    Holmes stared down at the street, then walked back to us. “No. Only that she seems an intelligent, compassionate and sensitive young woman. I hope you realize how fortunate you are, Lord Frederick.”
    Digby’s eyes widened, his lips parting slightly. I think for a brief instant he thought he was the butt of some joke, but then the utter sincerity in Holmes’s gray eyes must have reached him. “Uh, yes. I do, Mr. Holmes.” He did not sound convinced.
    “And of course there is her fortune, as well.”
    “And she is a fine-looking woman,” I said. Digby gave me a similar look, his surprise more evident. “She is not conventionally beautiful, but all the same...” Both he and Holmes were staring at me. I thought of those enormous yet graceful hands and that formidable bosom, and then I actually grew embarrassed. “I admire tall women. England has too many tiny, blond, insipid females.”
    Holmes was amused, but Digby still appeared confused. “Rather,” he said, putting the accent on the second syllable.
    “Tell me, Lord Frederick, do you know the name of Miss Grimswell’s solicitor?” Holmes asked.
    “Yes, he is James Rigby of Rigby, Featherstone and Godfrey. Why do you wish to know?”
    “I have several questions about her father’s will and the estate. I wish she had not left so suddenly. Mr. Rigby will probably tell me nothing without the lady’s permission.”
    “No, he won’t. Rigby’s a very strict, severe man of the old school.”
    Holmes seemed lost in thought. “Tell me, Lord Frederick, have you or Miss Grimswell ever felt as if anyone was following you?”
    Digby frowned and rubbed at the corner of his neatly trimmed mustache. “No, can’t say that I have, nor Rose neither.”
    “You do not recall a tall man with a black mustache, a bowler hat and mackintosh?”
    Digby’s frown deepened. “No, but...”
    “But?”
    Digby sat up and smiled. “Oh, I was recalling some tall surly fellow in the park, but he was only a groom, a filthy sort of fellow, dirty and unshaven. I was speaking—rather intimately—with Rose, and I noticed this fellow briefly leering at us, the most insolent look in his eyes. I had half a mind to go thrash him, but Rose tried to talk me out of it, and when I looked again, he was gone.”
    Holmes’s fingers drummed at the table. “I should have followed him—I should have at least tried.”
    “Are you speaking of the person you saw at my house on Saturday?”
    “Yes, Henry.”
    “As I told you, because we are so near Paddington, there are many strangers